But Chris tried to give an answer that was correct as well as truthful: "All male creatures have their sexual organs on the outside, and females have theirs tucked away inside."
"Neatly inside," I said.
"Yes, Cathy, I know you approve of your neat body and I approve of my un-neat body, so let all of us rejoice that we have what we do. Our parents accepted our bare skins just as they did our eyes and hair, and so shall we. And I forgot, male birds have their organs 'neatly' tucked away inside, too, like females."
Intrigued, I asked, "How do you know?"
"I just know."
"You read it in a book?"
"What else--do you think I caught a bird and examined it?"
"I wouldn't put it past you."
"At least I read to improve my brain, not just to entertain it."
"You are going to make a very dull man, I'm warning--and if a male bird has tucked away sexual organs, doesn't that make him a her?"
"No!"
"But, Christopher, I don't understand: Why are birds different?"
"They have to be streamlined in order to fly."
It was another of those puzzlements, and he had the answers. I just knew the brain of brains had the answers.
"All right, but why are male birds made the way they are? And leave out the streamlined part."
He floundered, his face turned deeply red, and he sought a way to say
something delicately. "Male birds can be aroused, and that makes what is in, come out."
"How are they aroused?"
"Shut up and read your book--and let me read mine!"
Some days were too chilly for sunbathing. Then it grew frigid, so even wearing our heaviest and warmest clothes, we still shivered unless we ran. Too soon the morning sun stole away from the east, leaving us desolate and wishing there were windows on the southern side. But the windows were shuttered over and locked.
"It doesn't matter," said Momma, "the morning sun is the healthiest."
Words that didn't cheer us, since our plants were dying one by one while living in the healthiest sunlight of all.
As November began, the attic began to turn Arctic cold. Our teeth chattered, our noses ran, we sneezed often and complained to Momma that we needed a stove with a chimney, since the two stoves in the schoolroom had been disconnected. Momma spoke of bringing up an electric or gas heater. But she feared an electric stove might start a fire if connected to many extension cords. And a chimney was also needed for a gas heater.
She brought us long heavy underwear, and thick ski jackets with attached hoods, and bright ski pants with wool fleece lining. Wearing these clothes, we went daily into the attic where we could run free and escape the grandmother's ever observant eyes.
In our cluttered bedroom we barely had room to walk without colliding into something to bruise our shins In the attic we went frantic, screaming as we chased one another: hiding, finding, putting on small plays with frenzied activity. We fought sometimes, argued, cried, then went back to fierce play. We had a passion for hide and seek. Chris and I enjoyed making this game terribly threatening but only mildly so for the twins, who were already terrified enough of the many "bad things" that lingered in the dark attic shadows. Carrie earnestly said she saw monsters hiding behind the shrouded furniture.
One day, we were up in the attic polar zone, and searching to find Cory. "I'm going downstairs," said Carrie, her small face resentful, her lips pouted. No good to try and make her stay and exercise--she was too stubborn. She sashayed off in her little red ski outfit, leaving me and Chris to hunt around to find Cory. Customarily, he was just too easy to find. His way was to choose the last place Chris had hidden. So it was our belief we could go straight to the third massive armoire and there would be Cory, crouched down on the floor, hiding under the old clothes, and grinning up at us. We indulged him, avoiding this particular wardrobe for a specific length of time. Then we decided to "find" him. And lo, when we looked-- he wasn't there!
"Well, I'll be damned!" exclaimed Chris. "He's finally going to be innovative and find an original place to hide."
That's what came of reading so many books. Big words stuck to his brains. I swiped at my leaky nose, and then took another look around. If truly innovative, there were a million good hiding places in this multiwinged attic. Why, it might take us hours and hours to find Cory. And I was cold, tired and irritable, sick of playing this game Chris insisted on daily to keep us active.
"Cory!" I yelled. "Come out from wherever you are! It's time to eat lunch!" Now, that should bring him. Meals were a cozy and homey thing to do, and they broke up our long days into separate portions.
Still, he didn't answer. I flashed angry eyes at Chris. "Peanut-butter-and-grape-jelly sandwiches," I added. Cory's favorite meal, which should bring him running. Still, not a sound, not a cry, nothing